Fascinating and Inaccessible
by Miss Forrester
Summary: Megatron. Lord of the Decepticons. Commanding officer of a wave of highly-trained soldiers who can, and will, conquer every planet from this galaxy to the next, never mind whatever the blasted Autobots and their precious Prime have to say on the matter. Megatron has a problem, however, that has nothing to do with the Autobots, or their Prime. And its name is Cai. Cai Ma-Lin.


"Oh, he did look like a deity - the perfect balance of danger and charm, he was at the same time fascinating and inaccessible, distant because of his demonstrated flawlessness, and possessing such strength of character that he was dismaying and at the same time utterly attractive in an enticing and forbidden way."

- Simona Panova, _Nightmarish Sacrifice_

There the human went - once again capturing his full attention without even an attempt to raise his voice. That was the mystery of it all - not his (admittedly) impressive level of understanding, not his sheer determination in the face of an unsolvable conflict, no, not even the subtle mockery that tinted every word spilled forth from his mouth.

(A glossa he had promised long ago to tear out - and never had, curiously enough.)

(He supposed it was because a part of him still grumbled at the idea of admitting that perhaps bring harm to the organic was not the solution to his problem.)

(Nonetheless, the warlord made a mental note to rip the component out, one day, just to prove his point.)

("What point is that? Proof of your barbarism?" the organic would say.)

His fingers itched to close around the frail creature, to simply crush it and be done with this, but again, he found himself, without fail, restraining the urge.

Normally, this would puzzle him. Normally, he would wonder what made this organic so different from the rest. But he already knew the answer. It was none of those aforementioned qualities that rung the winning bell.

It was the way he could walk into a room and steal his attention away from even the most pressing of matters. Just one look from the organic and he was falling silent, wondering what it was he wished to disclose with him.

But the organic was not his to share secrets with. (This should not anger him, it should delight him, in fact, but it made the energon running through his circuits boil.) The organic had been claimed as a pet to his treacherous second-in-command. And he had chosen his 'diversion' - the organic female known as Gwen.

Also the blasted creature's closest comrade. Out of all the organics the fool could have befriended, could have cared for, it had to be this reckless steam-for-a-processor. Not only did it cause him unnecessary trouble with attempting to keep the damned girl out of harm's way (for his own entertainment, for boredom, certainly not for the stupid boy), but it also meant more time spent in close proximity with the very creature that had somehow wormed his way into the warlord's processor.

Whilst he had to tolerate the female's testy mouth, and unmatched rage (he found it rather impressive, but all-too-problematic), he was forced to follow the male with only his optics. Forced to watch him argue pointless cases with his second-in-command, forced to watch the boy suck up an annoyance he understood only too well (Starscream never did know when to still his glossa), and above all, he was forced to watch the boy, the organic that should have been his, grow closer with the seeker.

He watched the boy pace, watched him lecture (on various accounts, for various reasons), watched him reason and talk and surround himself with his own little world, watched the boy try to hide away from the truth of an invasion by pretending he didn't care, pretending he didn't believe the Decepticon forces could win out against the vastly outnumbered Autobots - and the warlord realized that he much preferred to spend time listening to what the boy had to say in comparison to any of his own officers.

The realization was almost frightening.

And Megatron was many things, but a fool was not one of them. Nor was he naive.

He was wise to what exactly was developing, what was happening, taking place inside his spark. And the problem was not that the attraction existed (though it should be), but that he could not rid himself of it. It was like a scraplet infestation in his subsystems - he could not shake the thoughts out of his processor, could not shake the sick infatuation out of his frame, and he could feel it rotting him from within, clawing at the sense he had left. He knew one day he would lose control, recognized the possibility that he would one day be forced to take matters into his own hands, destroy the source of his problems before it destroyed him - but for now, he was content with watching.

At the moment, he was discussing something with Soundwave through the communications link, waiting for his pet to arrive in order to ease his restlessness (though it would never be fully erased, harassing Gwen did help _numb _the anxiety), and that was when he caught sight of the boy.

Primus forsaken, there went his spark again. Racing at the sight of him. (He supposed that the blood of Unicron was failing in keeping weakness from his frame.) It reminded him faintly of a similar experience, back before the war had escalated on Cybertron.

But it was only when he saw the expression on the organic's face that it clicked.

Orion Pax. The damned boy reminded him of his friend-turned-traitor.

And with that thought came rushing back all the other images, the thoughts unspoken, the feelings unrequited, the anger of losing the one he longed for to a council he didn't, couldn't, believe in. The dreams, the fantasies, the damned _desire_.

And his infatuation grew so strong, that something in him snapped.

The wire had grown much too taut around him, and now he had to act.

Now, it was no longer a matter of _if_, but _when _and _how_.

The organic was not Starscream's to show off, to be proud of, to admire. He had noted the seeker's obvious facade of callous cruelty towards the organic, knew it meant that Starscream had come to care - and fear- for him.

He had lost far too many battles, far too much, during the long war. He would not lose _him_. Now, he was going to stop avoiding the game. He was going to play, and he was going to win.

The expression on his face read of disbelief, but beyond that, he could not read much from this position. So he thanked Primus that for once the doctor had succeeded, that for once his officers had not messed up a simple task, and he activated the Phase Shifter. The world around him, once so small and pathetic-looking, grew around him, and he knew the device had worked.

He raised his hands, saw that the metal had melted away to skin (the same kind he had so often scoffed at for having such frail foundation), and then resolved to approach the organic directly, to stop wasting time and just get on with it.

(Of course, this was not the first time the organic had seen this form - it did look very much alike to his holoform, but it would be quite a surprise to be able to touch - and be touched by - the human.)

(A surprise he would delight in. After all, in courting another, he had often witnessed that the element of surprise worked the best.)

(Or maybe it had been too long since his last attempt to court. He could not be too certain, and he would certainly rip out his own spark before asking for advice from any of his conniving officers.)

"Human," he called out, and the boy looked up, briefly startled out of his reverie, but the surprise was not fast enough. It did not cover the anguish in his dark optics quickly enough so as to have not been seen at all.

And he felt anger beginning to claw at his spark - and the slightest trace of concern. (Purely out of curiosity, he tried to fool himself. It did not work.)

"Something happened." It was not a question, but he still didn't like that the human dared to ignore him, to look away and pretend he had not spoken.

A long silence passed between them, and he took this moment to fully appreciate the organic in this flattering light. He had stood close only once, in his holo-form, and that had been to threaten the fleshling, to scare him into submission.

Being up close again, he would not waste the opportunity to burn the details into his memory bank. The organic's dark hair was loose, out of its usual arrangement with that ridiculous little ribbon, and it was disheveled, but that did not take away from his beauty.

(The apparent lack of preparation seemed only to _add _to it.)

And then there was the matter of his optics. Brown. A color his kind would never know, not in their optical lenses. Almost blackened by the sun's rays, but it was stunning, framed by his messy locks as it was. Caution clouded them, barely chasing away the lingering tint of sadness, of his constant frustration, but he could also see what had captivated his attention in the first place.

It was still there. (He fought back a vent of relief. The organic did not need to know he was studying him. Not that he could guess from a single look.)

The embarrassment, the humiliation of what he had always been put through burning bright through the forced serenity, the anger and the hatred and the anguish. The understanding. The compassion he exercised despite his losses, the patience despite his hurried pace. Everything that made the boy exactly what Megatron despised - weak. And yet stronger than any officer that held rank in his army.

Respectable. Human. _Cai Ma-Lin_.

That was his designation. How could he forget? Megatron knew that, despite whatever happened, how many years, vorns, passed, how many worlds his war destroyed, he would never forget the organic's name, or his face. The curve of his graceful eyelashes, the shadows that haunted the boy's eyes, the quirk of that grin he often tried so quickly to hide, the pure defiance that reeked in the way he placed a single hand on his hip and shifted his weight to stare the others down. His slender frame, one that once disgusted him in light of Starscream's similar build, but that never failed to surprise him in how differently the boy used it, in how the boy could claim everything similar to be his own in his odd little manners of being.

None of it would ever be erased from his processor, and he would rip out the spark of any mech that tried to take that from him. Orion Pax was long gone, true, and Cai was not him, but he was the epitome of everything the warlord could not have, no matter how powerful he grew, and that enticed him further.

The nobility in the boy's heart, the bravery when he stepped up to defend his loved ones, the refusal to back down despite knowing he could very well lose the confrontation, all of the things that should have repelled him only pulled his spark in tighter, made it harder for Megatron to breathe without thinking of the organic's every intake, in turn.

It frustrated, annoyed, enraged him. And made him curious, made him step closer despite the fact that he should be fleeing as quickly as possible. Falling hard like this, losing his processor over a person like Orion, like Cai, could only end in more pain.

But it was like he hadn't learned his lesson. It was like high-grade buzzing through his circuits whenever he looked at the boy, listened to him speak, or even touched him (despite it always being out of necessity, or out of need to threaten).

He knew he should keep his distance, but all he wanted was to pull the boy in close, to forget that they could never be, to forget that the boy represented all that he wanted to destroy. He wanted to forget that Cai was so much like his enemy, wanted to pretend the Golden Age had never left, wanted to pretend that Cai could ever come to look upon him without hatred or disgust or disapproval.

And yet he knew that he would take whatever Cai gave, the hatred, the anger, the disgust, the disappointment, anything - as long as Cai did not stop giving. As long as the boy did not forget him as Orion had. As long as Cai did not become Orion Pax and destroy him as the Prime had.

"Cai," he spoke, without thinking, and wished he could tear out his own glossa.

Never once had he used the organic's name aloud. The name had always been something of privacy to him, something of a personal reverence he only dared to think of, to dream of, never to speak aloud. To speak it aloud would be to speak out his weakness, he had always reasoned. And now he had exposed himself without a second thought, all because the boy stood before him and he knew he would stop thinking altogether, would do something foolish, if the boy did not acknowledge him.

The boy was surprised, as he should have been. The anguish fell away (something he was glad for, even if it was at his expense - Primus slaggit, he had never behaved so weakly - he was beginning to sound like the Prime), and the shock registered in his expression before the boy's dark eyes met his.

They looked at each other for far too long, much longer than he felt comfortable admitting, and then the boy was clearing his throat, turning away. Embarrassment screamed out of his every bone, in the way he held himself so stiffly, how quickly he made to retreat, but this time, he was not going to let him walk away.

This was a battle he would not flee from.

His hand struck out, and he caught the organic by the wrist.

He watched the shudder rip through Cai, and then the boy was turning to face him, discomfort clear on his face. And a trace of something he should have delighted in but could only find himself lamenting.

Fear.

How ironic. He wasn't sure whether to laugh or swear. The one organic he had not wished to receive such a reaction from was the only one who had ever shown it.

It would have been amusing had he not been so distraught at the sight of it.

"Human," he corrected the mistake from before, and watched the boy's eyes narrow as they always did when he sensed that he was being insulted. Of course, this was not the case. The term 'human', when applied to Cai, could almost be likened to a term of affection.

(He certainly couldn't call him anything else far more endearing. That would be a blatant give-away of his interest in the boy, and at the moment, there was no room for openness of the spark.)

(Unless he deemed otherwise. And at the moment, he was receiving no signs that his advances were welcome.)

(Not that he cared. He couldn't flee from this, either. It would be counterproductive, the problem would grow worse, and he would lose further recharge over the organic. Something he was not sure he could continue waving away when under question of his medic. Something he was not sure would _conveniently _continue to escape Soundwave's attention.)

The boy pulled experimentally, but the warlord's grip was tight enough to send the message that he would be going nowhere until Megatron deemed he could.

He watched the child (in comparison to his own vorns online, that is) sigh, perhaps in irritation, perhaps in reluctant acceptance of the situation, and then he looked up directly into the warlord's face. His brown eyes were suspicious, worried (perhaps for his own health - a shared trait with his Second), and - curious. He didn't trust the warlord, but he was wondering what he could possibly want.

It wasn't often that the warlord bothered to direct a single word at him. But that was usually because Gwen or Starscream were around to misdirect his attention. Gwen did it because she cared for him, in her own strange way (the one where she would deny it if asked - the brat), but Starscream only did it for his own sake.

The boy, according to Starscream, was a clever pet, and he could always use a clever mind in his plans. It would be counterproductive to have the warlord destroy him for his stinging remarks, so he usually made sure that the warlord paid him no mind.

Where were Starscream and Gwen, now?

He felt like cursing his luck. It had been an overall horrible day. And now this would be the finishing touch. Sometimes he felt God truly hated him. Now, he would have to take special care to watch what he said.

(As advised by Starscream.)

(But could he really trust that asshole?)

(Only one way to find out.)

"What's on your mind, boy?" asked the warlord, startling him out of his reverie.

He shifted his weight, thoroughly uncomfortable. He certainly couldn't tell him the truth. Too much weakness at once for his liking. It would leave him vulnerable to whom it was not advised leaving yourself vulnerable to.

"Gwen." It was not a lie, but not the full truth, either. The safest bet.

Now, Megatron could not accuse him of being dishonest.

(If he cared to point it out.)

(Which he no doubt didn't - perhaps he was just bored.)

The warlord drew back his hand, releasing the boy, and watched as he took a step back, rubbing the sore wrist with his other fingers. He did not wince, or betray anything else on his face. He just continued to watch him with that infuriating look of caution, of calm. Like the Prime.

"Well?" he ground out. "What about her? Did she manage to ruin yet another of your short days with her problem-seeking?"

The boy scoffed, and he knew automatically that he had guessed the exact truth. Or, a portion of it. But he waited to hear it confirmed aloud.

(Mostly just because he yearned to hear more of the boy's voice, desired to have the boy speak directly to him. Not Starscream, not Gwen, _him_. Cai to Megatron.)

"That's a bit of an understatement," remarked the boy, his eyes blazing with that same humiliation, that same anger, from before. It made something in the warlord grow curious. "She just..." he sighed, placing his hand over his eyes, as if to dispel the weary memories. "She doesn't get it. I don't think she ever will."

"_What _doesn't she get?" he ventured to ask.

The boy half-turned, eyes taking in the girl's home behind him. "I've come to say goodbye." He didn't answer the warlord's question, not directly, but something in those words alerted him to the fact that the boy did not mean it as a temporary leave.

The girl had done something he could not forgive, could not excuse, and he had grown tired of dealing with the repercussions that he had not wrought. He had tried for years to keep the girl out of harm's way, to advise her, to help her, to _care_ for her, but enough was enough. He could see all this, the frustration, the resolve, in just that boy's single look towards her home.

"She won't be glad to hear it," observed Megatron, remembering that Starscream had likened the girl to the warlord many times before. Of course, this brought up the troubling realization that perhaps that teasing was only a hint of the verbal abuse Cai underwent with the girl in private. It left him wondering if perhaps Gwen mimicked his physical maltreatment of the seeker towards her own friend, as well.

Cai turned tired eyes on him, and shrugged, the gesture half-hearted. "I don't care."

Now, he was truly curious. That wasn't the full truth. He could see the boy still cared, but that his pride and self-preservation, his justified anger, were warring with this gentler sentiment.

"What did she do _this _time?" he wondered aloud, half-amused.

And that was when the boy lost his temper, his cool. He could see the control dissolve from him as his hands began clenching and unclenching. And then:

"What do you care? The both of you are exactly alike, after all!"

That surprised him. Not the idea (it had been brought up several times before), but the fact that the organic had observed this. (Oh, and the venom in his accusation was certainly nothing to scoff at.)

"And why is that?"

"She never listens," the boy burst out, and the look of surprise, of having lost control over his words, flashed across his face, but then he couldn't stop. He had to finish, or it would kill him faster than Gwen or Megatron himself ever could.

"She never wants to hear me out. Never. Her ideas are certainly lacking in tact, in common sense, but does she care? Of course not! Her ideas are _pure genius _merely because they come from _her_! Which is the _stupidest _thing I have ever heard, might I add! I try to say something, to remedy the situation, and _she _tells _me _to shut up! The fucking _nerve_, like I'm a _servant _or something! I never knew I had to ask for permission to _speak_! I was under the impression we lived in a _free _country!"

He was breathing heavily after the outburst, but the warlord could only assume that was not all that was bothering him. After all, that wasn't a deal breaker. Something else was there, lurking just beneath the surface. And it came forth, to his good fortune.

(He had always wondered what went on in that boy's mind. Now he supposed being told should be a treat, but he could only wonder if the boy was still comparing them, because if he was, that would mean he thought the same of Megatron.)

"And on _top _of that, as if that lack of mannerism wasn't _bad enough_, she doesn't appreciate a _single _damn thing I do. And I usually do things for _her _sake! I don't remember a _single _thing I've done for _myself _in the past few years! But it's like she doesn't _see _this. She doesn't see the _effort_, she only sees the _mistakes_, the _failures_, and she uses them to hurt me as if _she _didn't make mistakes _herself_! I don't know if she thinks she is _better _than me, or anyone, but I get these urges sometimes to remind her that she is _not_. That physical superiority is _nothing _if she does not have the wit nor the intelligence to back it up. I don't think _anyone's _ever told her that conquerors are supposed to be _smarter _than the conquered, not so easily provoked to make stupid decisions out of _pride _and _anger_."

The boy breathed in, but he wasn't done. "The most _infuriating _thing, though, is that she will _never _take me seriously, and I've had enough of being treated like a _joke_. So I'm done with her, simple as that."

"Have you ever brought any of this up to her?" questioned the warlord, truly curious.

"Of course not," the boy sighed. "Didn't you hear what I said? She doesn't listen to a single word I say. Cordial or otherwise."

"So why bother trying to say goodbye if she won't take it for what it is?"

"Because despite her being an egghead," supplied the boy, "I was raised better than to abandon a friend without warning." He shifted, uncomfortable once more. "And I care far too much about her to cause her that sort of pain. I know she's suffered so much, lost so much, and I wish it didn't have to come to this, but now that it has, I can set a better example and show mercy, compassion, honesty."

A vulnerable truth, the warlord surmised. He understood why it would be something he wished to keep to himself. That sort of thing must be uncomfortable to tell another.

Especially another who was so similar to his former friend.

"Am I really like that?" wondered Megatron aloud. This caught the boy by surprise, but just as he was going to respond, the girl arrived. Loudly demanding an explanation for why the boy had just left in the middle of their conversation.

And he stepped back, turned away, and left, allowing them their privacy. But not before he caught the look of gratitude on the boy's face. There was a warmth in his spark for the rest of the evening, though he did well to hide it.

Or tried. Perhaps he was in too good of a mood for it to escape anyone's notice. Even Soundwave was left wondering what had made him so willing to make light of a failure in their collection of a much-needed relic.

Not that he would ever tell. This was his secret to keep.

* * *

><p>The boy was working on a project when Megatron finally stopped ignoring his desires to see him and dropped by his home. He had been surprised by the boy's resolve to stay away from Gwen Herondale, who was worse for the wear without her conscience around to guide her.<p>

Of course, it fell upon the girl to reconcile with her friend, but his own motivations of seeing the boy were no less selfish, or greedy. It was time to have a private audience with the boy that lasted longer than twenty kliks.

"Cai," this time, he spoke the name with more familiarity, unwilling to communicate how uncomfortable he felt saying it. The boy spun, startled, and then shifted his weight - a would-be endearing trait did it not mean uncertainty.

"Me- Lord Megatron," the boy hastily corrected himself. He rose a single optic ridge.

The boy had never bowed to him before. If the warlord had never demanded it of him before, why would he begin to care about it, now? Perhaps the boy had always thought himself lucky, and perhaps he assumed if he did not pay his respects sooner or later, his luck would run out. (And perhaps the boy had been spending far too much time at the Seeker's side. Either way, it was... odd. A displaced gesture. Entirely unnecessary and absolutely disconcerting.)

"Don't _grovel_," he directed, hellish optics blazing with something the boy could not read. Or comprehend. (Had he been curious - which he was not. Honestly.)

The boy sighed, straightened his posture, and promptly turned to face his dining table once more. But before he could return his full attention to whatever project had come along this time, the warlord made his move.

In just a klik, Megatron had seized the boy's delicate wrist, holding it as gently as he dared. The boy turned, eyes betraying the flicker of annoyance that melted away into a combination of confusion and concern once the warlord pushed him down, onto his knees before him.

For a moment, they both said nothing, and just looked at each other. He held fast on his grip, and the boy tugged, absently, before he spoke:

"I thought groveling was out of the question, milord."

Something about that statement struck him as particularly charming, and he realized it was because Cai had shared a part of himself with the conqueror that he normally kept reserved to his second-in-command.

(And to Gwen, but since when did that fleshling matter?)

Scorn. Mockery. Ridicule. Derision. Cai had given Megatron his first taste of the boy's superior usage of sarcasm. He had just given him a hint of the clever nature the warlord was well aware existed somewhere beyond the forced cordiality and blasted saintlike patience. (Both of which offered a reprieve from the conniving nature of the majority of his officers, yet did not satisfy his personal desires because they were not _all _that Cai Ma-Lin consisted of.)

His optics flashed, an ominous sign of displeasure (from what Cai had observed), and the boy lowered his head, before snatching his wrist away, a feat possible simply because the warlord allowed it. But he did not get up.

(Possibly because he feared further retaliation.)

(He must have personally observed the evidence Starscream bore of his insubordination.)

Then, Megatron sighed. "Not even a position of subservience can make me see you as you should be. This little _problem _of mine is becoming ridiculous." He reached out, hesitated for a mere second (something he quickly dismissed, denied, because _**Megatron **_did not hesitate), and then placed his newly dexterous fingers underneath the boy's chin. He felt it, then. The quiver. The clenching of the boy's jaw. Saw the creature close his eyes, perhaps in denial of the unfortunate situation (he, too, wished it was merely a nightmare), or perhaps in fear.

He did not like it, regardless of the reason. The boy should be glad he not been crushed. Damn him for not seeing this. He turned, half in a fit of rage, and half out of the resolve to forget all of this, to just leave and stop himself from further tarnishing his reputation.

There was a creak, and he knew it was not him. The boy had stood, perhaps to pretend this had not happened, to return to his experi-

Good Primus, was the boy _touching _him?

He turned, apparently far too quickly, for the human took a step back, but the sudden movement did not unnerve him from his task. He saw it, then, in the boy's eyes.

Worry. Apprehension. Concern. For _him_, on _his _behalf.

Though he had made multiple moves to eradicate the boy's kind, Cai was showing him a luxury he had not been able to claim since Orion Pax had accepted the Matrix of Leadership.

Gentleness. His hands were soft, careful, and the unease he felt for Megatron's sake (and most assuredly for his own, as well) was communicated clearly in the quirk of his mouth, the furrow of his brow. The boy was not easy to read, by any means, but at this moment, the warlord could understand him completely.

It was exhilarating. Knowing Cai was worried about _him _provided quite a rush.

Not _because _of him, or about something he was _doing_. About _him_, the mech.

He could now assure any whom asked that being cared for, even just momentarily, was better than any high-grade compression, better than any victory, better than any blasted crown. (In the end, he wondered whether he had wanted this all along.)

(Care, that was. Concern, interest, the curiosity to wonder and ask more about him.)

(He wondered whether he was truly starved of affection, as Starscream _loved _to insinuate.)

"Megatron," spoke Cai, and his voice was quiet enough that he truly had to listen to hear, that he had to pay his closest attention, his full span of it, to the boy's words. "Is something wrong?"

He scoffed. "Besides my constant close proximity to losing the war? No. I suspect all is well." The boy retracted his hold, and his red eyes followed the movement. His arm felt cold, the absence of his touch almost like the burn of a frozen temperate on his shoulder.

"I am probably the last person you want to hear this from," said the boy, voice even and assured, eyes ablaze with sincerity, "but I truly believe that in a way, your cause, what you had begun fighting for in the _very first instance_, it is close to winning, and very far from losing."

"What in the Pit are you talking about?" The warlord's optic ridges arched, confusion marring his usually confident and smug expression. Cai savored the moment, knowing he might not survive his explanation.

He shifted, then shrugged, deciding it wasn't worth it. "I don't know if it would be in my best interest to say." Megatron stiffened, and then sighed, almost in defeat.

"I am not going to tear your glossa out, boy. You can tell me what was on your processor when you began to speak. In fact, I would be very interested to hear whatever explanation you have for that cryptic confession."

The boy emitted a strange sound, one he had never heard from Cai, and the warlord wondered what exactly it had been. Comparing the sound to other similar noises he had heard brought him to the realization that Cai had just giggled.

Which was the closest to a laugh he had ever managed to extract from the boy.

"That, Megatron, is the worst possible way to reassure someone that you won't hurt them. It almost sounded like you were planning to do exactly that which you promised not to. Word of advice: if you plan to win over the trust of your future slaves, try not to grit your teeth or exude such an aura of murderous intent when you're trying to give a merciful impression." He had not expected the boy to say so much at once, since Cai was usually a quiet one in regards to the warlord, but once he had heard what he had to say, he found himself strangely void of annoyance or irritation.

Usually, one could not dare to correct him in his conduct without risking a severe beating, if not a quick death, but for whatever reason, he did not feel angered. In fact, he felt intrigued, going back over his actions mentally and wondering whether he truly was so transparent.

And then he found that he was grinning.

"And _you _should take care to remember who is the Lord, here, Cai," he stated, but this time, he found that his words were not threatening, or forceful. They were almost... gentle? Yes, he found that his words were dancing more on the side of _teasing_. A gentle prod at the boy who was currently trying to reign in his giggles.

He feared the boy would not realize he was making light of the situation, that he would grow afraid, but he was surprised once again. Cai merely gave him a skeptical look before he finally relaxed his posture. And laughed.

The sound was something Megatron made sure to record in his memory banks. He would be sure to replay that sound if ever he found himself on the brink of death. It was a comforting sound. So light, carefree, sincere. It was a sound of joy, of trust.

After all, how could one laugh so earnestly with a companion one did not trust?

This realization slammed him so hard that he almost reeled. And then, he was unable to control himself. This time, he reached forward and took a firm hold of the boy's hand. Not his wrist. His _hand_. His thumb gently rubbed against the boy's palm, trying to soothe Cai's apprehension (after all, the move had been rather sudden). His other hand framed the boy's jaw, and before he could ask the warlord what was happening, what he was doing, Megatron had crushed his mouth against his, kissing him violently, heatedly.

Cai felt as if his breath had been stolen from him all in one gasp. He barely had enough time to react before the warlord was pulling back. He tried to breathe, tried to ask what the hell had just happened, if Megatron was perhaps ill, but then he saw the wild fear, the humiliation, the confusion, warring in the Decepticon leader's red optics.

Before said warlord vanished. The holo-gram was perhaps not able to be kept up from the strain of the body, Cai reasoned in his mind, before he himself collapsed against the kitchen table, legs weakened from the shock that was catching up with him.

Gwen happened to storm into his kitchen at the wrong moment, a look of desperation on her face, before her eyes widened at the sight of his pale expression. "Cai?" she exclaimed, but then his ears were ringing, face growing hotter and hotter at the thought of what had just transpired. And then he fainted from the shock.

* * *

><p>When he next awoke, he was not alone. But instead of being kept company by Gwen, whom had found him in that state, or even Serina and her husband, he woke to the sight of burning red eyes. Megatron.<p>

The moonlight made those eyes glow in the shadows of Cai's room, and he could clearly see the expression of discontent in the warlord's face. How long had he been there? Cai wanted to ask, but refrained.

Instead, "Good evening to you, too." He sat up, stretching out his sore muscles and listening to the cracking of his bones. The slanted roof, the darkness shrouding much of his room, and the breeze coming in through the window that Serina had left ajar all transformed the moment into something almost surreal.

His mind couldn't comprehend why Megatron would bother attending to him when he wasn't even conscious. That would constitute personal concern, and after that odd display of _superiority_ (he wanted to scoff), he wasn't so sure that was far off point.

But all of this was moot. It was possible Megatron was playing a new game, or was simply bored. Or had malfunctioned. After all, he _was _a creature made entirely of technology. Biotechnology, but technology, all the same. Was it possible for their minds to glitch? He couldn't ask this aloud, because then the warlord would know what he was insinuating, and his luck might _then _run out.

"It is a terrible evening," Megatron stated matter-of-factly, and he wondered briefly whether he had lost another artifact to the Autobots. Fighting the mental urge to cheer (perhaps there was still a chance of survival for his kind!), he forced himself to remain solemn.

"What happened? Did you lose possession of another artifact?"

All at once, Cai wished he had watched his tongue. What had possessed him to say that so bluntly? Without even sugarcoating it? What an idiot!

But he couldn't help himself. He found himself smiling, and hoped that the warlord would not find that his actions were a mockery of the Decepticon effort. However, instead of being killed, or tormented in his weakened state, as he had been terrified would happen, Megatron returned his lighthearted gesture with a grin of his own.

Slightly less ominous than usual. It was only worrying because Cai was concerned that he was behaving in a much friendlier manner than usual.

"No. Thank Primus. Somehow, Starscream has managed to keep the failures to a bare minimum for the time being."

"Oh," pointed out the boy, "but I suspect he'll have no problem surprising you with bad news upon your return." He took that time to inspect his surroundings, perhaps making sure nothing was out of place. From what the warlord had observed, the boy had an affinity for order. It was a trait to be coveted. (One his forces desperately needed.)

"I don't doubt his considerable skill in that area," he allowed.

The boy returned his attention to the warlord, and offered a questioning look. He was honestly surprised it had taken him this long to sense that something was out of place.

"How long have you been here?" Cai did not need to ask how he had gotten into his bed. He had no doubt it must have been Gwen's doing, or the act of his host parents.

Megatron observed the look of suspicion in the boy's eyes, and wondered whether it was not as common as he had assumed for the earthlings to come calling when their loved ones grew ill or were harmed in some manner.

And then he realized that, even if just to himself, he had referred to the boy as a _loved one_. "I have been here since your sun began to set in your sky."

"My sun," the boy was stunned, and then he was laughing, once more. "My sun, he says." The warlord rose an optic ridge.

"Does something about that amuse you?"

"No," the boy was smiling, nonetheless. "You just have a very charming way of speaking." This time, it was Megatron's turn to be stunned.

Many things he had been called in his long life, but not once had the adjective been _charming_. Inspirational, rallying, ferocious, brutal, just, great, but never _charming_. He reckoned that not even Soundwave found him charming.

(Well, he reconsidered, perhaps that would be the only other person to share Cai's opinion. Who knew?)

Then, the boy took him by surprise once more. He held out his hand for Megatron, whom just observed the gesture and then gave him a questioning look. The boy offered only a smile, dark eyes alight with a gentleness he couldn't understand, and then the warlord was carefully accepting the gesture.

Cai waited for him to place his warm, rougher hand in his, before gently enveloping the appendage in his hold. Hand held firmly in his own, Megatron observed a look of unmatched happiness in the boy's eyes, and wondered how it was that this moment alone could incite such a reaction.

"I know how difficult it must be for you to say it, so I will help you, because your sentiment is not without full compensation," said the boy, before tugging on the warlord's hand, his cue to come closer.

Megatron leaned in close, red eyes watching him carefully, wondering what he was playing at. The boy let go of his hand, only to wrap his arms around the warlord's frame, pulling him into his embrace as he nuzzled his face into the taller man's shoulder.

It was such a show of affection, so endearing and soft, that he couldn't help the chuckle that escaped his lips. Then, he wrapped his arms around the human boy, gripping him close, the hold possessing a hint of protectiveness. Never in his life, not even in the arms of his mother or under the watchful eye of Optimus Prime, had Cai felt so safe, felt that no one could truly cause him any harm.

And never had he felt so aware of himself. His heart was fluttering like the wings of a bird trapped in its cage, and his face was growing warmer every second that passed in the warlord's hold, but he didn't dare move away. Didn't want to.

"I am not one to engage in these sorts of things," confessed Megatron, his voice a rumble from so close-up, and his hot breath sending shivers down Cai's spine as it spilled forth over the hairs across the back of his neck. "But I must ask you something."

Cai pulled back, looking up into his red eyes, wondering what the warlord was going to ask, or say. He shifted, almost as if in hesitation (but that couldn't be true - it must have been a trick of the light - Megatron was not one to hesitate), and then:

"Do you fear me?"

The boy's eyes softened. "No. I could never fear you."

"Then why do you avoid me so? Why do you refrain from speaking your mind towards me? Why do I feel as if I am chasing you in a circle with no end?"

He could see how frustrated Megatron was, so he decided to enlighten him.

"I am not avoiding you because I'm afraid of you, Megatron. I do that because I'm afraid that one day, you'll know. You'll just know, and I..." he sighed. "I'm terribly weak-hearted."

"Know-?" The warlord was not a fool, and it did not take him longer than a nanoklik to make the connection. He took a hold of the boy's chin, and pushed his lips against Cai's. For a moment, neither of them did anything but revel in the gesture, but then he was pulling back, because he felt he had to explain.

"I-" he couldn't seem to say it. He tried, but nothing would come out. His throat seemed to close up, and his glossa seemed to seize. The boy saw this, and laughed, quite a lovely sight to behold. Then, he pulled in close and pressed his nose to the warlord's in a gesture of affection (one he could definitely allow himself to grow accustomed to).

"Don't hurt yourself, now," teased Cai, his eyes alight with the very thing Megatron had thought he lost the grace of. Love. Affection. Adoration.

A graceful thing to observe in Cai Ma-Lin.

"You fascinate me," Megatron observed aloud, and the boy seemed surprised.

"Do I?"

"Yes. I had always found you fascinating. Fascinating and inaccessible."

Cai ran his fingers wonderingly, absently, over the warlord's cheek. "I will never close myself to you, Megatron. Never."

Then, he smiled. "And if it makes you feel any better, I have always thought the same of you." Then, he moved aside on his berth, patting the spot beside him.

The warlord observed this quietly, and then climbed in beside him, wrapping his arms around the boy and holding him close as Cai fell into recharge once more.

And for the first time in vorns, he was finally able to get a wink of recharge, as well.


End file.
